The Dementors Kiss
by ChevalierRadiant
Summary: Harry Potter encounters a pair of Dementors near Surrey. After thwarting their attack without magic, his life returns to normal... kind of. Harry begins to realise things are not as they used to be. Starts pre-fifth year. Harry will not be OP or a god, simply unleashed and reasonable. This is a slow build. Characters will be tagged as they appear in the story.
1. Ch 1 - A World of White

**This is my first Harry Potter fanfic. I would like to encourage those who are interested to send me messages about possible storylines, events and pairing in this world I wish to build. Justify your wants though :)**

 **I hope you guys enjoy it.**

Harry Potter's eyes fluttered open. It was a strange experience, going from the darkness of closed eyelids to an uncompromising whiteness. His eyes moved from near to far and left to right to look upon white as far as the eye could see. This vast whiteness was uniform. There was no variation of distinguishing points. No lighter or darker patches, and surprisingly, no glare. If any were there to experience this with him, Harry would have described this as disconcerting. Thank god none were here with him, for that would have meant the direst of fates had also befallen them.

Harry had already accepted this fate and took some time to ponder how he had gotten here, and how it would affect the rest of his existence. This second death really was not like his first. That tragic memory had been dredged up during the beginning of his third year while onboard the Hogwarts Express. That was the first time he had felt the cold seep into his bones, the most uncomfortable feeling he had been exposed to. Coincidentally, this was also the first time he had heard the most reassuring sound in the world; his mother's voice.

'What a juxtaposition,' Harry mused, 'the aura of a Dementor, and the voice of my mother.' He realised it was almost as odd as his current predicament. The most peaceful he had ever felt, and also the most dead… or second most dead. Harry couldn't decide, he had been hit with the killing curse after all. Along this train of thought, Harry inevitably encountered the memory that was associated with both the Dementors presence and his mother's voice. The sickly green of his parent's murder, and subsequently, his first death. How had he forgotten that at all? It was something he had thought on frequently ever since the memory had resurfaced those two years ago. It was, after all, the most pain he had ever experienced in his relatively short life, even more so than the Dark Lords torture curse he had experienced merely a few months previously.

How different this death was to his previous one.

 _Avada Kedarva_ had left the infant in a vastness of the associated green and unimaginable amount of pain, while his current death left him in this whiteness with only contentment to keep the boy company.

Or so Harry Potter thought.

The longer he existed in this plane, the more he became aware of the flaws in his surroundings, or were they patterns? The more Harry Potter squinted and moved, the more detailed and intricate these patterns appeared to become. Another thought struck him. His environment was changing around him the longer he existed there, or did it change when he walked? Was he walking? It felt too smooth and graceful for walking, the movement actually reminding him of the gliding on a broomstick. Was he flying?

As Harry moved from one new thought to the other, the vastness around him continued to shift through his focus. Maybe his eyes were adjusting to show surrounding that had already existed. Harry Potter could not tell. 'Am I moving?' he found himself pondering again.

In this world of white, Harry's thoughts were lucid, and he was not able to stay focused on one this for very long, and his thoughts drifted further. As the young wizard thought and pondered, pondered and thought, his surroundings continued to expand adjust in shape and size. These patterns or flaws in his surrounding, almost without his knowing, began to form themselves into comprehensible shapes, lines and forms.

The longer the lines squirmed and thrashed, the more lucid thoughts became. These thoughts eventually became sluggish and hazy, and then, they seemed like the thoughts of another person, a stranger. The boy, for he no longer could recall his name, watched as the once uniform whiteness had slowly shifted into a recognisable environment before his very eyes... or existence. 'Do I exist?'

The shifting patterns seemed to squirm and thrive until they did not. They had almost snapped into clear detail, with the being now finding themselves in a room that now seemed like it did not belong. This room seemed small, or was it large? Whatever it was, it was definitely old… maybe. The being turned to look around, or maybe it didn't move and just observed its surroundings. Whatever it did, it took note of the perfectly symmetrical room. Four uniform brickwork walls with a heavy ceiling and large stone tiles. As the being took in their black and white monotone surroundings, they became aware of a disturbance against one of the walls. The right-hand wall? There was a cloth draped over stacked items along the right-hand wall.

As its attention shifted towards the covered items, the room seemed to implode, and yet, nothing had changed. The covered items still lined the right-hand wall, the plain, yet imposing wooden door stood behind, embedded into heavy stonework, the great, elegant metal frame etched with an ancient language stood near the front of the room, revealing yet more whiteness, and the black mass congealed across the entirety of the left-hand wall, oozing and pulsating… wait.

Wait!


	2. Ch 2 - The Door, The Frame, The Mass

**This is my first Harry Potter fanfic. I would like to encourage those who are interested to send me messages about possible storylines, events and pairing in this world I wish to build. Justify your wants though :)**

 **I hope you guys enjoy it.**

Take in the room. That was all the being could do, The walls. They had changed. The sturdy door, the elegant frame and the oozing, pulsating mass. The door, the frame. the mass. The door, the frame, the door, the frame, the mass. The door, the frame, the mass, the cloak. The door, the frame, the mass, the cloak.

The cloak?

Suddenly, the sound of rushing air existed everywhere, the room flicked in and out of clarity, and a concussive blast seemed to shatter the world that was the existence the being currently inhabited.

It was the implosion of nothingness and the expanding of everything at the same time. Harry James Potter felt his mind become his own. The was the concussive blast that had shattered his world. The rushing of air, an influx into his lungs, only to be expelled again. He could breathe. The room jumped back into sudden focus. He could see.

The door, the frame, the mass, and that cloaked bastard. His anger flared, his pulse raced, and the space within the room warped. With the return of his mind, five things had become very clear to Harry.

He was currently standing in a classroom he has stumbled across in his first year.

In front of his stood the Mirror of Erised.

To his left was a dark pulsating mass.

He was very much dead.

Things were about to get very personal between Harry and this cloaked bastard.

"Harry Potter," the voice was soft, yet harsh, and it echoed through his very being.

"Cloaked bastard," Harry kept his voice firm, or at least hide the tremor of anger.

"You have a decision to make, and not as much time as you think you do to make it," Harry's attention was drawn to the pulsating mass, which looked like it had receded very slightly.

"What decision do I need to make?" Harry knew the figure spoke the truth, but he did not know why he knew that.

"Approach the mirror, and you will understand."

If Harry did not know any better, he could have sworn he heard real pity in the voice speaking to him.

He took a deep breath, 'why not,' he thought, 'it's not like there's anything else I can do.'

The closer he moved to the Mirror of Erised, the more intense the location where the reflective surface of the mirror should have been became. Each step took felt slower, the edges of his vision fading into whiteness like the room had been when he entered, and with it, peace. The cloaked figure watched each step the boy took. It was easy to see the shoulder relax, the frown dissipate and fists unclasp. The weight of darkness, expectation and abuse melted off the child where there should have been none in the first place.

"That is far enough," the cloaked figure's voice seemed more commanding this time.

Harry's feet stopped, but his torso leant forward slightly to offer him a better view of the not so reflective mirror."Why do I want to approach the mirror so much," it was almost a whisper.

"I do not assume to know why your mind built the structure we now find ourselves in. I can simply tell you that you find yourself in the Atrium of Death, though I am used to seeing a single door."

Harry's brow furrowed, "I'm looking at the next stage, aren't I? If I keep moving forward, I'll pass on?"

"If you continue, you will meet whatever comes next."

The furrow stayed in place, "you said my mind build this place," the figure did not answer the rhetorical question, "why would my greatest desire be to move on?"

The figure took their time to answer, drawing the attention of the boy. With his attention, some of the previous weights could be seen to settle onto his figure once again. "You seem to have had unwanted burdens forced upon you, even if you do not realise," the voice echoed cryptically, "these burdens are unwanted, but consuming. Tell me what you saw when you first looked upon this-"

A deafening crack sounded, causing the teen to whirl and face the undulating mass. It had received further, with large chunks of the underlying wall visibly cracked, and even as he watched, those cracks deepened.

"What is happening?" Harry demanded.

"There will be time for that," the figure purposely glanced at the mass before turning back to Harry, " what did you see when you first looked upon the Mirror of Erised?"

After a hesitant pause, Harry answered, "my mother and father, and other figures I could not recognise, although I do recall Padfoot and Professor Lupin now."

"People you feel safe with, a family," the figure stated, before continuing on with a question, "where do most of the people you consider family to be right now?"

Harry's eyes widened in realisation and he turned to face the mirror, "if I wasn't already dead, they would kill me," he muttered.

A further crack sounded in the silence that followed. The wall containing the mass seemed to be breaking away, but to where, Harry knew not.

"You seem to have three options. More than others in your position would have."

Harry, with great effort, stepped back from the mirror and towards the figure. He looked up into the hood with a determined gaze and saw only shadows, "tell me."

"A normal death would allow the departed to either stay in this room until their essence seeped back into the mortal realm and they became what you call a ghost," Harry nodded as if he expected nothing less, "or they pass through a doorway into the next phase of their existence."

"I'm not experiencing a normal death, am I?" Harry glanced to his side as more of the wall crumbled into whatever lay beyond this room.

"You have been given more choices than most I have encountered," Harry did not rise to the implications of that statement, "most in your current predicament would be forced to stand in the Atrium of Death with no choice of the outcome."

"And what is my predicament?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"The dementors kiss."

The sentence was nothing but horrifying, sending shivers down his spine.

The boy nodded his head towards the crumbling wall, "that's what is on the other side, isn't it?"

The figure stayed silent as a large chunk of the wall gave way and outside of the room became visible. It was truly indescribable. Out of the corner of the young wizards eye, he watched the cloaked figure shift uncomfortably. That simple action was more terrifying than all of his past experiences. Quirrel, the chamber, the tournament and the veil beneath the Ministry. They seemed trivial compared to what lay beyond the monotone brickwork.

"That creature is currently… entertaining the dementor and acting as a barrier," the figure seemed to be choosing their words with great care.

"What is it?" Harry didn't really want to know, but he had to ask. The mass seemed familiar to him.

"It is a vile parasite which had been with you for some time. It has had tendril wrapped around you and your magical core."

"A gift from him?" Harry's voice was bitter, but the question was once again rhetorical and didn't require a response.

As the two watched, another large piece of stonework and connected mass was dislodged into the nothing.

"The dementor only needs to take a single life force from this place. All who experience the kiss are normally locked in this place, but you have been offered a rare opportunity," the figure spoke in the same slow pace as always, seemingly distracted to the increasing disintegration of the wall.

"What are my choices," Harry spoke with more haste.

"You stay and perish after the parasite."

"Not an option," Harry said firmly.

"You traverse the Mirror of Erised," Harry made no comment," you pass through the door behind us and return back to the mortal plane."

"As a ghost?" The query was not accusatory or scared, merely of interest.

"Back into your body. You may only become a ghost be staying in the Atrium of Death until your essence leaks back into the mortal plane, which is not an option for you."

"That last option isn't common, is it?" Again, a question of interest.

"No."

More of the wall was torn away. That made most of it now.

A few moments passed with Harry looking between the cloaked figure, the wooden door, and the great mirror. Harry took two slow paces towards the mirror, the weight of responsibility and expectation falling from his shoulders once again.

"Everyone's in there, aren't they? Mum, Dad-"

"Along with Cedric and the rest of your lineage," this was the first time the figure had interrupted Harry.

With sudden emotion and a scream of frustration, Harry let his emotions dance of the moment as he forcefully tore his gaze from the entrancing mirror and moved purposely towards the wooden door. The cloaked figure moved out of Harrys was, granting him a shorter route to the door, but it was not enough.

Just as Harry was reaching for the handle, the last chunk of wall was ripped away, and the room was entirely exposed to what was beyond. Harry stretched his fingers out, as his feet slid off the ground behind him. He was perfectly horizontal in the air for a split second before he began to slip back.

Harry growled, not in frustration or anger, but in determination. As it did when he first became aware of himself in the room, the space around Harry warped, and for the sparsest of moments, the monotone world in which they resided was bathed for the first time in green. Not the sickly green of the killing curse, but the rich emerald green of Harry Potter eyes.

In a flash, the boy disappeared, and seemingly at the same time, the rest of the room was sucked into the nothingness after the pulsating parasite. There was still a cloaked figure, seemingly invisible among the nothing, who had not moved but yet still existed.

"So that is colour. Fascinating."


	3. Ch 3 - From Grey to Green

From a distance, it would look as though this cloaked figure was crouched down, whispering to the teenager who was slumped against the wall inside the mouldy, damp concrete tunnel. But that was from a distance; the closer you were to this spectacle, the more disturbing the scene became.

The figures cloak of moth-eaten, dark fabric flowed loosely around its body, gently waving in the air, even though there was no breeze. Its sightless gaze was focussed on the greying green eyes mere inches from its face. The creatures long hood had hidden the horror beneath. This creature was one of the foulest known to man. A decrepit manifestation of darkness and despair.

A Dementor.

Currently, its unhinged jaw was fastened around much of the teenagers lower face, encompassing his chin, lips and cheek.

The creature of darkness had never known such a satisfying morsel. The soul that it had just consumed was of a higher calibre than the creature was used to, yet not as dense as it was expecting. Generally, the higher the calibre of a soul the denser and more satisfying it tended to be. The beast was not complaining, _it did not know how_. It did not know much of anything, other than to follow its instincts. Hunt. Feed. Devour. A predator of souls.

The second Dementor was approaching another teenage figure, currently seizing on the ground a short distance away. Whereas the figure below was small and scrawny in stature, the other was fat and bulbous. It was obvious to both the creatures that the soul of this large boy would be insignificant and unsatisfying, but it was the only other 'meal' that was close by, and they were still bound by orders. As one figure began to descend towards the large boy, the other unfastened its jaw to free itself from the smaller. The ritual of feeding had come to a close.

The grey eyes of the boy stared blindly forward, a white cloud starting to slip in front of the irises. As the Dementor detached itself and began to glide backwards, the eyes of the boy shifted to a murky green and quickly began to increase in intensity until an emerald inferno blazed where the grey had been moments earlier. A shuddering breath scraped down the boy's throat, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the grimy floor. He opened his mouth to scream, but only a rasping cry escaped.

The Dementor reeled back. Its instincts forcing it to retreat in the face of the abnormality which was the victim in front of it, a foul sound emanating from its very being as it raced for distance.

Returning from death was not as terrifying as one might expect. No, the thing that disconcerted Harry Potter the most was the sudden return of his senses, and by extension, the sight of a decrepit, screeching Dementor close enough to reach out and touch. His ears rang in response to a sound he only just realised was plaguing him; the nightmarish wails of the Dementor. Harry pressed both his hands over his ears as the overlapping sound of high pitched screaming whispers pierced his mind. In the back of his mind, he could hear the distinct cry of his mother as she died.

Harry arched his back as the sound continued, the horror of it all seemed to engulf all of his senses. It was at this moment that Harry caught sight of the second Dementor lowering itself over the prone figure of his unpleasant cousin, Dudley. Clenching his teeth, Harry pushed himself to his feet, his aching muscles protesting his every movement. Dragging his feet forward, Harry began to approach the Dementors. A guttural sound tore from his throat as his body protested the movement, both from the fatigue and the cold aura the creatures gave off. The second Dementor paused in its decent, and its head slowly twisted until the hooded face was locked onto the approaching Harry.

To both Harry's amazement and agony, the haunting tones of the second Dementor joined those of the first, compounding the intensity and nightmares it inspired. Both creatures began to retreat. Their movements no longer haunting and slow, but rather fast and jagged. These jarring movements were just as menacing as their controlled gliding, but for an entirely different reason.

The Dementors lost the last of their nerve, for as he crouched in front of his seemingly untouched cousin, the Dementors finally turned their cloaks and tore from the tunnel, colliding with the walls, roof and each other in their rush to escape. Harry's eyes locked onto the face of Dudley, his rosy cheeks uncommonly pale. Harry placed his hand on the large boy's chest, the horror of the entire situation seemed to crash down upon him.

For what felt like an eternity, Harry's hand stayed firmly over Dudley's chest. _Come on_ , He pleaded in his mind, teeth clenching.

Da Dum.

The thrum of a heart. Dudley's heart.

"Wake up Big D!" Harry commanded, without a trace of sarcasm in his voice.

The boy lay unmoving, yet his heart kept its steady rhythm beneath the younger cousins bony hand.

"Wake up and I will get you all the chocolate you can eat!" Harry paused, he realised his body was not feeling the tremors and feverish symptoms that usually accompanied an encounter with Dementors. It was a strange feeling, especially considering he had just been closer to one then he had ever been before.

 _Closer to one than any mentally able person had been before,_ he corrected his train of thought, then dragged it back to his cousin.

CRACK

The sound of Harry's palm across the unconscious boy's face reverberated off the tunnel walls. It was an was an act of desperation looked to have paid off.

"Thank god," Harry muttered under his breath. He bowed his head onto his cousin's shoulder as his nearly hysteric breathing began to calm down.

"Wha- wha happened?" Dudley rolled his head from side to side as he slurred his question.

"Dementors. Foul magical beast," as he spoke, his voice felt stronger. Harry moved off Dudley, offering his hand.

Dudley took a few more seconds to gain his senses before his head snapped left and right, seemingly to locate the threat, "where are they?"

Harry had never heard his giant of a cousin so scared before. Then again, he'd never seen Dudley attacked by a magical creature either. "Gone Big D. We fought them off."

Dudley warily reached up and clasped Harry's forearm, "we did?" his confused expression deepened, "with you… you know… freakishness?"

Harry rolled his eyes as he dragged Dudley to his feet, "my magic?" he asked pointedly, watching the flinch that followed the word, "no. The Dementors were genuinely afraid of me."

"First thing that's made sense all night."

Harry first reaction was to rise to anger, then sarcasm… instead, he felt nothing of the sort. The ire he knew he should be feeling was not there. The sarcastic comment that was on the tip of his tongue faded. A bark of laughter escaped him. _How baffling_.

"You're telling me," the corners of Harry's lips quirked up as he placed Dudley's arm around his shoulder to offer support, "All I had to do was stand up, and they both shrieked and high tailed it out into the night." Harry began to move them towards the end of the tunnel.

"I heard you say something about chocolate."

"Of course you heard that," Harry tried to hide his smirk, "it's one of the best cures for getting over a Dementor attack."

By the time they reached the mouth, Dudley seemed to be on the mend, and Harry was nowhere close to the wreck he had been after he encountered Dementors in his third year.

The clacking of rushing footsteps reached them. Harry moved quickly, stepping out and in front of Dudley, taking a defensive stance. He had his wand raised towards the approaching figure. _When did I draw that?_ He wondered.

He just as quickly lowered his wand as he recognised his batty old neighbour, Mrs Figg.

"What are you-" Harry started.

"Don't put your wand away boy," Mrs Figg's pitching voice snapped in the gloom, "there might be more Dementors."

Harry gaped at her dumbly, his voice quiet and confused, "you know?"

"I've been watching over your relatives since you were born. Dumbledore's orders."

For Harry, this raised more questions then they answered.

"How did you get rid of them? I didn't see your patronus.

Harry scratched his head nervously. He didn't think this was the right time, place or person to be discussing the evening's events, but he settled on the basics.

"They retreated before they could do any real damage," Harry answered honestly.

Dudley began to speak when he was cut off, "we got lucky," Harry silenced him with a glance. More pleading than anything.

"Yes, yes," Mrs Figg spoke to herself quietly, " Dumbledore is going to have a heart attack when he finds out. Mundungus is in for a rough time."

"Mundungus?" Harry repeated the name out loud.

"Where did you hear that name?" Mrs Figgs snapped.

"You just said it," Dudley answered simply, "when you were talkin to yourself."

Harry inwardly groaned, but the older woman didn't seem to take any offence.

"That does make sense. He was meant to be on guard tonight."

"Guarding what?" Harry thought he already knew the answer, but he had to ask.

Mrs Figg looked at the two of them was a certain amount of confusion, "You of course," her eyes settled on Harry.

 _Of course._


End file.
